This lovely little romp by Piggy was a jaunty stumble down memory lane. We grouped up at the Ruck at a soft 5:69. Again, it was just me and Dirtbag for twenty eerily sober minutes. We talked about how bed fright is a thing just like stagefright. For example: let’s face it, Dirtbag and I are fairly versed in bedroom activities but if Queen Latifah or Hilary Clinton decided that they wanted to fuck me, I feel like I might just crack under pressure and freeze. Even though you’ve done something hundreds of times before, the pressure of having to perform for someone with such cache can make you freeze up and forget what to do next. Then Moans weighed in and taught us that when in doubt, stick your cold hard nips in somebody’s eye and they won’t know what hit ‘em. Then at a softer few minutes later OTD showed up. On time. Wow. He must have finally wound his watch so it could catch up and show the time that it was in the rest of the world instead of just in Utica. Either way, it was good to see him. Then we heard the ground-trembling roar of an engine and Edgewhiner showed up on his Harley. That was awesome. Then Piggy and Decibelle showed up (just in case anybody was worried this wouldn’t be a real trail). Then Willy showed up with his aloof Willy-smile and Adiredneck fishing hat and just lit up the room. Then 6.9 and SeizeHer showed up looking as in-love as ever, and Hymen showed up (Alone!), clearly lost on her way to Wisconsin. And then, just as we were about to leave for trail, the bartender softened the Dropkick Murphys playing on the speakers, started a faint drumroll on a snare he produced from under the bar, and gave the “go” sign to a quartet of trumpeters, who played a bright welcoming fanfare as the bar door triumphantly swung open.

And there, in the doorframe, lit by the glory of a thousand suns, was our Hashit.

And there, behind our hashit, where it was kinda cloudy, was some girl, clearly in the wrong place, with the look on her face of “why am I holding a plunger with a dildo on it”.

It was only then, after the hashit had found its way back to its long-lost family and guided this lost soul back to the hash that we realized it was Poke. In all her glory. Looking like…well…Poke. Welcome back, Poke.

At an appropriately late hour, we had chalk talk, sang Father Birmingham (who was actually a preist in me + Superflaggot’s friend’s neighborhood), sacrificed all Virgins to the great god Rachel Ray, and got on trail. After some normal piggy-style buttfuckery, we found ourselves trudging up a hill toward Prospect Park. And lemme tell you, 6.9 must have Armstronged himself (Armstrong = to chop off one’s testicle to become faster at ascending hills) because he was flying. Then we had a solemn moment of silence for the place where F3 broke his ass on a previous trail. Decibelle lead us in a solemn rendition of Amazing Face. After we were all cried out, a few more trail marks brought us to beer check at Postenkill Park. Now Piggy is the classiest mofo I know but when your beer check features Colt 45, Olde English, and PBR, you know you have a friend in me. A quick rendition of the S&M man and an Ode to Moans’ Tit and we were on our way.

The next section of trail took us (via normal piggy-style buttfuckery) on a dark romp through the area where Pontius Penis broke his ass on a previous trail. We didn’t hold a moment of silence for that occasion, though, because let’s face it, that guy killed Jesus. And that’s why he can’t go hashing. Thank god we were able to reflect some portable sun off Dirtbag’s head or we wouldn’t have been able to see where we were going.

At this point, Hymen and Edgewhiner were leading the pack, because that’s what happens when you drink fireball. And Willy was smiling that goofy smile, still lighting up the room. How could you not smile with a name like that? Willy. Makes me happy just to say. And even though I couldn’t see him, I know OTD had his dick out. Why, you ask? Because it happens so often it’s statistically likely.

As we all reached the parking garage where circle was held we did have another moment of silence. For Seizeher’s Ass-cells. She slipped on some ice and ass-boo-boos and earned herself some ass-bruises. Which we all kissed. Because we’d never forgive ourselves if we let anything happen to Seizeher.

Then came circle, which consisted of the normal drinking occasions and included a tip o’ the hat to Willy as FRB, Edgewhiner as DAL, and the Hashit for finding its true family once again. (She decided to go home with Willy probably because she missed the male company and knew that he probably had a clogged toilet that needed tending to).